


Feeding

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Character Turned Into Vampire, M/M, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of brief vampire AU plotless ficlets, begun as a request, in a verse where Fenris has been turned, and is desperate - dying from the hunger in the freshness of his disease, when he is brought to Anders' clinic. Anders, always the healer, wants to help however he can, no matter how much it disturbs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that Hawke is gender neutral here (they pronouns!).

Hawke slams the door to Anders' clinic open with a crash.  They are desperate. The elf they drag behind them is seething. Not himself.  His eyes are wide, bulging. His teeth are bared, pearly white against the scarlet smearing his face. They are not normal, Anders realizes with a surge. He swallows and backs away.

The elf has _fangs_.

His lips are pulled back, exposing those ethereal weapons like a wild animal. He is snarling, a vein in his temple pulsing, his whole body heaving and his breath ragged. There is blood down his front, smudged across his face, and he looks monstrous. Demonic.

Anders is chilled to the bone. He'd heard that this had happened, but hadn't wanted to believe it could be real. Hawke had told him of what Fenris had become, had told him of the horror now surrounding the elf but he had yet to see it for himself. Last he'd heard, the other mage was hunting Fenris down, following the signs of gory slaughter that their companion had left in his wake.

Now, Hawke is flustered, frustrated. “Fucking _do something_ with him, Anders. I can’t get him to stop," they bite out, wringing their hands.

“Stop what?” Anders narrows his eyes warily at the lyrium-lined beast.

“Stop him... from killing _fucking everything_ ,” Hawke snaps, glaring at Fenris out of the corner of their eye. The elf - and it feels strange to call him that, as he is more reminiscent now of a monster than any elf Anders has ever seen - is now staring at Hawke’s throat, his eye twitching. “He’s freaking me out.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Anders mutters with a humorless chuckle under his breath. He cringes as he watches Fenris’ wet tongue dart out to taste the blood caking on his own lips.

“Yeah. Just... take him. Do _something_ with him.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Anders calls to Hawke’s back, which is receding already from his clinic. They wave noncommittally over their shoulder, and vanish. _Good for nothing Champion_. Anders' lip curls in annoyance.

Alone with the monster, Anders gulps. He meets Fenris’ eye at last and finds nothing but ice there. It's a haunting gaze they share, and Anders hates it. His breathing hitches. “Er... hi.” Fenris blinks. He is trembling, and does not respond. “Sorry about... your... condition, I guess?” Fenris sneers furiously, but remains silent. His eyes flick to the line of Anders’ collar, and he looks weak. His brows knit together in what could be concern, and he gulps hard. "I... hear you've been on quite the rampage." Anders is feeling suddenly vulnerable. Exposed. He is only lucky he too is a living weapon. He shifts uncomfortably where he stands, leaning backwards in an unconscious attempt to begin drifting away from Fenris. "Want to tell me about that?"

It’s a long minute before Fenris finally speaks. “So. _Hungry_.” His throat sounds dry.

Anders raises his brow, his mouth twisted in a scowl of disgust. "Eugh. So I've heard." Fenris looks down at his hands, his eyes wide and glassy and bloodshot as he takes in the details of his blood-drenched fingernails. “Want to… explain what you mean by that hunger?”

The elf takes a step toward him, but Anders backs away. Fenris moves forward again, but Anders keeps the dance going with another step back. He stops, breathing slowly but shakily. “It’s like being constantly deprived of food or water, but I know in my veins that I only need the one thing.”  Fenris slides his thumb and forefinger together, watching the blood lubricate the process with an expression of great curiosity. “I need... blood." His hoarse voice cracks. He sounds genuinely ashamed and miserable. "I can’t get enough of it. No matter how much I drink… it’s never enough. If I could take it from the dead, I would, but it hurts. It’s cold, and it chokes me. Slows me. I need… I...” He lets out a pitiful whine. his eyes wild and fixated on Anders like he’s prey. “I need… a living vein. And it’s still… never enough…”

Another step forward, and Anders provides the same avoidant response.

"Please," Fenris croaks. Anders has never seen him so desperate, never heard such abandon in his voice, and he is shocked and appalled to see actual tears in the man's eyes.

"Can you not pull yourself together, man?"

But Fenris seems to have deteriorated. He wears the face of an untamed wolf. A true monster if Anders has ever seen one.

The healer sighs, and raises a hand. The air shimmers between them, and Fenris looks terrified for a minute, betrayed. As the magic passes through him, he looks helpless.

For a moment, Anders feels guilt wrack him. Using magic on Fenris feels wrong. It feels the way it looks - like a betrayal, no matter how much he despises the elf. After his past experience with magic, it was expected. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, as the beast’s eyelids droop. He falls towards the mage, and Anders swears when he takes the step forward to catch him. The elf goes completely limp, and he is surprisingly lightweight for one so hardened by muscle and armor.

Anders drags him to the nearest cot, and sits beside him. The elf smells rancid, like death itself, and the mage wrinkles his nose. “Maker, Fenris,” he sighs. “You’re really a mess.”

He cleans the elf delicately as he sleep, though it seems futile. The blood is everywhere. It’s in every pore and it stains his skin and armor with a deep tinge. It’s under his fingernails, and by the time Anders gives up, it’s seeped into the wrinkles of his palms. He stares down at his hands over his washbasin, and feels his heart sink.

He’s never encountered a being like Fenris before. He’d fought darkspawn in hoards with the Warden Commander, and again in the deep roads with Hawke, but never has he faced a monster like this. Fenris is alive, Fenris is himself, but he is changed. Perhaps permanently, and Anders doesn’t know what to do for him. What had Hawke expected from him? Some kind of miracle?

Glancing back at where the elf sleeps, he watches warily as the creature twitches. His pallid brow is knitted and he looks like he is in pain. Anders wonders if he really is. He turns, leans back against the brim of his washbin, and folds his arms across his chest, still staring. “I wish there was something I could do, Fenris. You’re a hateful bastard, but I don’t want to see you like this. No one would.” Fenris lets out a groan like a dying animal. “If I could get you fresh blood, I would, y’know.” He bites his lip, an imagined picture of himself being fed on flits across his mind, and he shakes his head sharply. That's just ridiculous. “Well.” He blushes, and scowls. “Alright then. Sleep.”

Anders wishes he could sleep, too, but he needs to watch Fenris. The man is not only sick, but he is dangerous. He sits on the cot beside him again, instead, and leans his head against the wall behind him. This will have to do for tonight’s rest. Anders has had worse, anyway.

He’ll ride this out, and do what he can.

Fenris tosses and writhes. Halfway through the night, Anders is forced to hold his legs down to ensure he does not roll off the edge of the cot. He grits his teeth, cringing at the elf’s wild moans of agony and despair. “Maker,” he mutters, struggling against Fenris’ strength. “What is happening to you, elf?”

He needs blood, a voice in his head reminds him. Anders swallows. He’s heard the legends, and knows that without regular feeding, the elf will almost certainly fall apart and die. If only he could find bodies for him, but he can’t let anyone else die at Fenris’ hand. No. That would go against everything Anders stands for. If only there was some kind of spell for this, or some surefire way of preventing Fenris from killing the next time he feeds.

But that would take constant supervision, and who could be sure -

His heart skipped a beat as a thought occurs to him. He isn’t certain if the idea is his own, or if it’s Justice whispering inside of him - _I could stop him, if he tried_. It might be both.

“Yes,” he whispers suddenly as the revelation strikes him, and immediately Justice protests. That is not what Justice meant by it, but the idea has planted itself, and an uncomfortable determination creeps through him like poison.

He stares at Fenris’ face, his jaw set. The elf, usually so tan and matte with a deadpan expression, is white as a sheet. He is damp, sweating like a dying man, and the beads now pooling across his flesh are tinged red. His expression is twisted in pain, his fangs protruding from his open mouth. He looks distorted and more inhuman than ever. It is disturbing to watch. Terrifying.

There is little time. The healer in him knows that Fenris is going to die soon, and no matter how Justice kicks him for it, this is the only solution he has.

When Fenris’ limbs stop twitching for a moment, Anders takes his chance. He unfastens his coat, his eyes steadfast on those teeth as his fingers work. Two inches long, wet with saliva and darkly stained from all the blood he’s consumed, they are threatening. Weapons built into him, as though the elf needed to be even more deadly than he already was.

He tosses aside his coat and feather pauldrons, and a cloud of dust rises from the floor where they pile. He swallows hard, his heart beating nearly out of his chest as he reaches for his robes next.

 _Don’t_ , Justice hisses from somewhere in his bones. _He does not deserve this kind of care. He is not worth your life_.

Anders scoffs. “You just said you would not let him kill me, if it came to that,” he whispers. “You’d better mean that.”

The robes fall away. Anders waits.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for what could be considered dubious consent.

When Fenris wakes, he is crazed. He screams, tearing at his arms with his claws in agony, wishing he could rip out his own fucking heart, and just be done with it. The need is too painful. His only relief is feeding, but then he’ll become the monster everyone had always said he was. Is that worth it?

He cries real tears, but warm hands hold him steady. He can smell Anders’ blood, can feel his closeness and hear his tempting pulse, but he keeps his eyes closed. It’s too painful otherwise.

But Anders puts a hand to his forehead, and pushes his damp hair from his forehead. “Fenris,” he said. “Look at me.”

He does, and is unraveled by the sight. Anders is top-bare. His robes are gone, and the flesh exposed appears a buffet to him. He shakes his head violently, and tries to wriggle away, but his strength has waned significantly. Anders tilts his head back, baring his throat. He swallows nervously, and that beautiful vein is jutting shamelessly. He is awed by it, his mouth falling open. He is dizzy, desperate, and starving.

“Go ahead, Fenris.”

“M- mage…” Fenris is trembling, horrified. “You… don’t know… what you offer.” He is cringing, but he cannot remove his talons from Anders’ shoulders. “Please…” This is foolish. But...

Anders takes a deep breath, and Fenris is startled to feel his gentle hand on the back of his head. “It’s alright, Fenris. You need this. Justice will stop you if you are too close to killing me. I promise. You can’t hurt me.”

“You… cannot… know that.” He means to protest more, he means to pull away, but he is so weak and desperate by now, he hasn’t the strength. His lips are chapped, cracking like the desert floor. After yesterday’s devastation, being faced with his friends again since his turning, he wants to stop his rampage. He wants to force himself to go clean off human blood, but it is so painful. He is dehydrated. His veins itch. His head spins. He cannot feel his fingers or toes any longer; he feels he is shriveling up, and Anders’ neck is his salvation. “You… could die…” he rasps, but even as he speaks, his face inches closer. His mouth is gaping and his eyes are wide, fixated on that point that looks so fucking ripe for him.

Without warning, Anders pulls him in, pressing his lips to the nape of his neck, and Fenris lets out a nervous moan. He hesitates. “So could you,” Anders reminds him hoarsely. “Do it.” Fenris feels his eyes sting with tears. He has killed so many over the last week, but never has he fed off anyone he’s known so well for so long.

Is it still murder if Anders offers it?

He feels Anders’ fingers tighten in his hair, tugging his scalp, and he moans. “Feed,” the mage whispers - and it is too much.

Fenris lets out a cry of desperation, a whining moan that becomes shortly muffled by his mouthful a moment later - for he has stretched his lips wide, clamped them hard around Anders’ neck, and sunk his teeth into him. His fangs slide easily into Anders’ throat, like slicing into soft butter, and the blood spills into his mouth, over his tongue and down his throat in a rush, like a babbling stream of hot liquid life. He groans, ecstasy swelling in him as the warmth floods his extremities. His eyes roll back. He clutches the mage tighter, feels him writhe and cry, feels his fist in his hair trying to yank him away - but it is too late now. He cannot stop. He cannot pull away He has lost all self control, and he is an animal again.

His eyes and flesh both glow with lyrium. The pleasure of the connection and consumption is too great to contain. He feels his body rock against Anders’ shaking figure, and delights in the way the abomination’s limbs grow weak against him. He moans as he drinks deep, and everything is on fire with exquisite satisfaction. Had anyone told him the blood of a man possessed would be so rich, he might have dismissed them. But this? This is unreal. This was a high like no other meal he’s had, and he is losing himself in it.

Then, from overhead, he hears, “ _Please_.” Anders mewls, a pitiful wretch in his arms, and he holds his body closer. “Please,” the healer whines again, “Fenris. _Don’t_ … it… hurts… too much…”

But Fenris does not stop. He can feel Anders’ pulse in his own head, feel his life in his veins, and it is his whole world. He wraps an arm around the mage’s middle, hugs him close, and drinks deeper with an ugly squelch. The blood spurts into him so sharply, it fountains down his front, soiling his shirt and smearing Anders’ chest with black crimson. The abomination lets out a shriek of agony, but despite his pain, Fenris can feel in his blood that he is aroused, smell it pooling in his gut, feel his cock hardening against his hip. He moans again, the vibration curling through his lips and creating a ripple in the sea of blood on Anders’ shoulder. He closes his eyes, sinking in the pleasure, giving in as the completeness washes over him.

Then, very suddenly, He feels the mage grow hot, as though his skin has turned to flame. He whines, teeth still buried deep in Anders’ throat, and that is when he feels it - an unfamiliar tingling in the bloodstream. With a gasp of shock, he pulls away. It is too much, his senses are too overwhelmed, like being touched immediately after orgasm, and he wants more, but needs a rest. Panting, he looks into Anders’ eyes - only to find that Anders is no longer there. The eyes are vacant, marked instead by a blue so dazzling it almost hurts to look at them. “ _You will stop this now, monster_ ,” Justice demands, his voice echoing eerily even as he struggles to speak through his gaping neck wound. In response, Fenris presses his tongue to Anders’ shoulder and laps up the blood as it continues to flow. “ _You have had quite enough_ ,” the demon insists again. “ _Stop this_.”

“No,” Fenris growls, nuzzling into the sticky place where neck meets shoulder. He crashes his open mouth against the punctures still pouring scarlet for him, and grunts ecstatically. The blood of Justice is infinitely sweeter, and Fenris feels his whole body tense. Anders - Justice - lets out a moan so obscene, the elf cannot stand it. His eyes flutter closed, his cock swelling, his own blood racing with life for the first time in days, and it feels so damn good. Too good. The bliss is nothing he’s ever felt before, and they’re both feeling it. Anders is bleeding out into his mouth, but he is panting, moaning, as though Fenris is not devouring him at all - but _fucking_ him instead.

He drank not only from the veins of one man, but from the fade itself, and it makes him lightheaded. His vision spins. Everything pulses in and out of sight, bright and painful and beautiful - and then he is _coming_ , shamefully frotting against Anders’ leg as he pins him in his clutches. He feels Anders’ shuddering gasp ruffle his lyrium-stained hair. The mage is shaking violently, growing cold. Fenris needs to stop. He _has to_. But he feels so good. _So fucking good_. He can't -

To both of their relief, Justice forces him away. Fenris falls backwards, half laughing, half moaning. Blood is dripping from his chin, wet and sickeningly warm against his markings of his neck. His thigh is damp, too, but with semen. Anders seems to be crying, despite the stony nature of Justice’s presence. “Thank you,” Fenris exhales. He’s not sure what else to say. Both men are flushed. Breathless. _Dizzy_ with bliss.

As Justice fades, and Anders glances awkwardly away from him, Fenris grins dazedly at him. It is filthy and bloody and Anders gulps upon receiving it. The elf watches as the mage brings his trembling palm up to his neck to heal himself, and lies back. It is the first time he has felt whole in days, and the best he’s felt since becoming… this. He feels alive. He feels well. This is _perfect_.

And now, as Anders smiles sheepishly at him from beneath his healing magic, Fenris feels his insides tighten hopefully. If Anders allows it, this could really be one heck of an arrangement.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should not be posting this right now. i have not edited it, and i am drunk. but if i don't rn, i might never. so.... here u go.

"Again, Fenris?" Anders looks haggard. There are grey bags beneath his eyes.

"It's not like it was a one-time need," Fenris says. "Please." So much desperation in this soft plea. The elf trembles. His eyes are wet with shame. "I'm sorry..." he rasps, and Anders believes it. "But… I need..." he breathes. His skin is crawling and Anders watches helplessly as the warrior digs at his markings with brittle fingernails, veins blue beneath the dark skin that has grown so pale over these long weeks. He claws, as though there is something tickling him beneath the flesh of his arm.

Pitying him, Anders shakes his head. "Alright," he concedes sorrowfully. Fenris' eyes widen in relief and excitement. He paces on the spot, waiting while Anders shuts and locks the door to his clinic. When he turns back to him, Fenris looks rabid.

He trusts Justice to stop Fenris, but still he feels his heart race in fearful anticipation. Having one's jugular punctured is hardly a duty to be undertaken lightly. He shrugs off his coat, and lets it pool on the floor. Fenris seems to stop breathing. He takes a step forward, and Anders instinctively takes another step back again.

He wants to ask about how this got them off so much last time. He wants to ask about why being drained felt like ecstasy, and to ask about the fact that the elf had dry humped his leg and came in his trousers. But his words are stuck. When Fenris takes another slow step towards him, Anders opens and closes his mouth uselessly, and gulps.

“You are afraid,” Fenris hisses. It is not a question.

Anders scoffs lightly, eyes lingering on the fangs now retracting, two inches of hard bone, lethal weapons protruding from an elf’s gums. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“I feel I should… apologize,” says the elf. His bloodshot eyes are shining. “Because I enjoyed you… so much.”

Anders breathes a laugh. “I… enjoyed it as well, even though it hurt.”

“You did seem to,” Fenris points out, flitting his gaze to the apex of Anders’ thighs and letting his brow raise suggestively.

“I'll admit I know very little about… your kind,” Anders admits. “But if I had to guess, there's something in your saliva now. Like a venom.” _A venom that induces pleasure_ , he scoffs silently.

“I only know I need more,” Fenris whispers. He is a starved animal. Pale. Pitiful. Terrifying. “Please.” Anders cannot stall anymore.

He nods. They move to the nearest cot.

“Will you enjoy it again?” Fenris questions with a curl of his lip.

Anders shrugs. “I doubt I’ll be able to help it.”

The points of the elf’s teeth piercing his throat should cause him unspeakable agony, but instead he finds himself riding a wave of rapture again. The blood spills hot and fast, and Fenris cries out against the rush, swallowing in huge gulps.

Anders tries to moan, tries to beg for more, for less, for release, for escape - but he cannot speak. The only noise he can muster is a gurgle that disappears on the air before it's even passed his tongue, choked by the fangs in him. His vision blurs. Any semblance of strength is gone now, and he is limp: a rag doll in Fenris’ arms, a doll built to be drained.

This should disturb him. This should elicit protest and anger, but instead he finds his mind crying for more. Every inch of his body wants Fenris inside of him, beyond simply his teeth. He wants to be penetrated, to know a more sensual possession than the one he endures every day. Is this the side effect of Fenris’ saliva?  To keep prey docile and wanting?

And Justice is here - angry but breathless, drowning in sensation and powerlessness. _He is quick_ , Justice tells him. _He will be done soon already, and you will die_.

 _Stop_ , he tries to cry. _Fenris, stop. You will kill me. Stop!_ But it is useless. He is completely damaged. There is no utilizing his throat anymore.

Indeed, there is blood completely coating them both, their chests sticking together in the crimson mess. He is far away already, his body miles away from him and Justice, and he cannot feel his fingers. Justice tries to speak, to firmly soothe the beast, but neither of them have a voice anymore.

Anders realizes with a horrible lurch that Fenris has torn open his neck, exposing muscle and tendon. He is sobbing as he feeds, messily crushing his mouth against ripped flesh, making love to the wound with his tongue. Blood is spurting against the elf’s face and gushing down the back of his tongue, giving color and life to his flesh again. He looks healthy, ecstatic, and despite his tears he is rock hard against the human’s leg.

He is very close to disappearing, Anders realizes, and in a rush of terror he gives himself over to Justice in the hopes that the spirit can protect him. He is gone, and indeed it is only Justice’s strength of will that is able to pry the elven monster from him. Eyes flashing blue, he emits a nasty gurgle. Blood runs from his mouth, through his throat, down his front. He is weak, but with preturnatural resilience he heals himself, his body glowing vibrant with the spirit’s presence as the flesh knits together again.

Fenris collapses, falling back on the cot. He is high. Laughing manicly. It is disturbing even for Justice to watch the elf run his fingers along his torso, smearing Anders’ blood and across his branded skin like a salve. His mouth is hanging open in ecstasy, his tongue works eagerly at his top lip, tasting the leftovers from the mage’s veins. “Unbelievable,” he whispers, proceeding to lick his fingers clean. Justice hovers over him still.

“This was too much, monster,” and though he speaks at average volume, the echo of the spirit's tenor feels like a bellow.  “You got too close. Anders will die if you drain him that much again.”

“Then I will endeavor to be more careful, demon.” He is breathless.

“As it is, this will scar,” Justice snarls. Then he grows quiet for a moment. “Anders wishes to front again. I do not understand it, but - he wishes to be with you.” Fenris smirks in a daze. “Let us hope you can learn self control before you next hunger for him.” Justice’s expression is impassive, but the tiny crease between his brows implies a threat.

“He knew this was dangerous when he volunteered for his,” Fenris hisses. He pushes himself up to his shaky elbows. Wipes tears and blood out of his vision. “Yet he did it. He knew, and he made the choice, and you couldn't stop him from that.”

The human shuts his eyes, and winces as though the warrior had hit him. Fenris sits up a little taller, chest still heaving breathlessly, and watches Anders return to him with a sensation of protectiveness he could never have imagined feeling before. “Mage?”

Anders blinks. He looks drunk. “Mm?”

“Are you… alright?”

The healer does not respond. He rubs his shoulder, stretching his neck and wincing. He is still in pain. Still feels weak. But there is pleasure running in his veins all the same. It confuses him. He is dizzy. “I am,” he whispers. “I feel… good, in fact. Drained… but good.”

“Good?”

He nods. “Aroused, even.” He feels pathetic for admitting it, but Fenris had been rubbing his hard cock against his leg not two minutes ago. He is hardly alone in this feeling.

Fenris is flushed beneath the coat of drying blood. “Perfect,” he purrs. “That’s how I like you.” Anders raises a brow, smirking weakly. The elf bites his lip, fangs still bared in arousal, stained from Anders' wound. “Let me fuck you,” he begs through a strained voice.

Anders stares at him blankly. His heart hammers. He imagines it - the elf’s naked body, caked in his own blood, pressing his into the cot, making him sigh? The slap of wet skin on skin, painted scarlet? It makes him hard to even think about, but he cannot trust that Fenris will not lose control and tear him apart. He cannot know that the monster will not feast on his flesh to the point of death even as he fucks him, and that is not a risk he can take. Besides - for the moment, he is far too weak. He might very well pass out if Fenris were really to fuck him now.

“No,” he breathes gently with a small smile. “But this may be a long term arrangement, and maybe… maybe one day.”

Fenris closes his eyes at his words and draws a deep breath, forcing his feelings down, swallowing this other need of his. He nods shakily. “Of course,” he sighs, and Anders feels his stomach flip when the elf’s eyes flutter open again to rake his torso. “You just look… so… _good_.” He reached out a hand, drawing a line in the blood on Anders’ chest. “Drenched this way?” He shakes his head and hisses. “You’re _perfect_.”

The mage shudders. “And you’re... disturbing,” he admits, and at this, he stands.

He leaves Fenris there on the cot, looking slightly hurt, and as he washes himself in the back room, he hears the door to his clinic open, and knows that Fenris is gone. Some part of him is worried, but he knows the beast is attached to him now. Knows he will need more.

Fenris will be back, and a sick part of him looks forward to it.

**  
**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really annoyed that I don't have the time or energy to make this a long fic. No, seriously.


End file.
